Кладбище домашних животных

22

           

           HehandedtheshoveltoLouis,whotookitinhisfreehand.

           "Jud,whatthehellareyouupto?Wecan’tburyhimtonight."

           "Yeah,wecan.Andwe’regonna."Jud’sfacewaslostbehindtheglaringcircleoftheflashlight.

           "Jud,it’sdark.It’slate.Andcold"

           "Comeon,"Judsaid."Let’sgetitdone."

           Louisshookhisheadandtriedtobeginagain,butthewordscamehardthewordsofexplanationandreason.Theyseemedsomeaninglessagainstthelowshriekofthewind,theseedlingbedofstarsintheblack.

           "Itcanwaittilltomorrowwhenwecansee"

           "Doesshelovethecat?"

           "Yes,but"

           Jud’svoice,softandsomehowlogical:"Anddoyouloveher?"

           "OfcourseIloveher,she’smydau"

           "Thencomeon."

           Louiswent.

           TwicemaybethreetimesonthewalkuptothePetSematarythatnightLouistriedtotalktoJud,butJuddidn’tanswer.Louisgaveup.Thatfeelingofcontentment,oddunderthecircumstancesbutapurefact,persisted.Itseemedtocomefromeverywhere.ThesteadyacheinhismusclesfromcarryingChurchinonehandandtheshovelintheotherwasapartofit.Thewind,deadlycold,numbingexposedskin,wasapartofit;itwoundsteadilyinthetrees.Oncetheygotintothewoods,therewasnosnowtospeakof.

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